


The Daroga Solves a Mystery

by Populaire7



Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M, Pharoga - Freeform, this was actually fun to write
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2020-02-29
Packaged: 2021-02-26 08:00:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21960010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Populaire7/pseuds/Populaire7
Summary: Three memories where something could have happened, and two memories where something did happen.
Relationships: Erik | Phantom of the Opera/Nadir Khan
Comments: 5
Kudos: 21





	1. How I Met His Mother

**Author's Note:**

> This is a gift for @dying-suffering-french-stalkers. Happy POTO Secret Santa 2019!!!
> 
> I also used a few prompts from @memorizingthedigitsofpi. Q-Quips and Banter, W-Will They, Won't They (They Will)

The first thing I noticed about him was how tall he was. He was about half a head taller than myself, which was tall to begin with. The second thing I noticed was how strange his eyes were. The irises shown like gold. I only noticed them because it was the only part of his face that I could actually see. I had only heard of the sultana’s “toymaker,” but I hadn’t arrested anyone who warranted such a sentence… until now.

Not many had the nerve to assassinate the sultana. She was fair to those who didn’t cross her. But there had been whispers from those who were bitter with the world and wanted someone to blame. Unfortunately, the scapegoat was the most powerful woman in Persia. The would-be assassins were woefully unorganized. It had been too easy to catch them.

The toymaker’s office was as gloomy as one could expect. I knew he didn’t operate from the palace dungeons, but we were instructed to bring the traitors there anyway. I only hoped that my men and I didn’t have to watch. There were dozens of rumors about the toymaker’s methods, each more ghastly than the last. Seeing him before me, eyes wild, each one was seeming more true by the second.

“Ah, right on time. Welcome.” His voice was surprisingly clear. Its deep baritone was… unsettling. “Gentleman, thank you for delivering my new test subjects. This will be fun. You may go now, thank you.” My men released their prisoners, but I had to stay to give my report to the sultana.

“Daroga, would you excuse me for a moment?” All I could do was nod. I handed the chains to him and he led the prisoners to untold horrors. About two hours passed, yet I didn’t hear anything. The toymaker arrived as suddenly as he had left.

“Thank you for waiting. Twenty men is a rather large specimen. Some unexpected things were bound to occur.” As he spoke, his eyes never left me. His face was still covered. I’m not one to scare easy, but he terrified me. Allah knows what happened to those men, and Allah help anyone who crosses him.

“Do you have what the sultana asked for?”

“Patience, Daroga. There’s no rush. Have a drink. You seem… uneasy.” He was right. Against my better judgement, I accepted his offer. I had no cause to think he’d kill me save for the hell of it. But our employer wouldn’t be too pleased with that.

His movements were fluid, almost like a dancer. More like a European. His Persian was near perfect, but there were hints of a French accent in his words. Despite my fluency in the fluency in the language, I’d never been to France. The wine the toymaker had given me was French. It tasted too rich for my tastes, but I still drank it.

“You handle your nerves well.”

“… I beg your pardon?”

“I frighten you, no?”

“Not frightened. I’m just separating fact from fiction.”

“And your verdict?” There was a smug look in his eyes.  _He thinks he knows what I’m going to say._

“What exactly did you do to the prisoners?” His eyes widened in shock. I guess the toymaker wasn’t used to having his methods questioned. Or hearing French in Persia.

“I merely released them in a maze of mirrors. Everything that happened to them, they did themselves.” There was a new tension in the air. Being stared at so intently was spurring a warm feeling throughout my body. I had to learn everything about this masked toymaker. He was a mystery I couldn’t dare leave unsolved.

“Tell me, _monsieur_ Toymaker, how on Earth were you able to get French wine here? It tastes ridiculously expensive.”

“That’s because it _is_ ridiculously expensive. The sultana is kind enough to allow me my more… eccentric tastes.”

“I have a feeling those tastes go beyond wine.”

“All men’s tastes extend beyond wine, Daroga.” He stood and began to circle my seat like a vulture. Strangely, I felt… aroused? This toymaker was unlike any man I had been attracted to. But was this intentional? Was he seducing me for a laugh? Or was he even seducing me at all? Had he put something in that wine?

He ended his circling and began approaching me from behind. Thin, gloved hands grasped my broad shoulders. I had to remember to keep breathing.

“Where do _your_ tastes lie, Daroga?” His voice, barely a whisper, tickled my ear. Whatever he was offering, I was willing to take it. But I was not brave enough.

“In getting my job done. The sultana’s tokens, if you please.” The toymaker remained still for several moments. Then, he removed his hands and returned to his side of the desk in the blink of an eye. He grabbed a blue pouch that I hadn’t noticed before and tossed it to me. I had to check its contents, so I opened the pouch to find twenty pinky fingers. I had what I needed.

“Thank you, _monsieur_.”

“Always happy to serve the sultana.” With a small bow of my head, I turned to leave. However, a small cat decided to make my acquaintance. Its blue eyes stared at me with a rather curious look.

“Ahh, I see my mother wanted to meet you.”

“The cat?” The cat in question sauntered over to the toymaker and allowed him to lift her in his strong arms.

“Yes. Ayesha takes care of me the way a mother should. I would wither away from starvation if not for her… I hope to see you again soon, Daroga.” All I could do was nod before leaving that dungeon.


	2. Chess?

And see him I did. After a few more rounds of Toymaker executions, the man invited me to play chess. I was never very good at it, but after five years of chess matches, the toymaker admitted I could beat him any time now. He had become such a bastard in the time I’ve known him.

He was mysterious as ever. All I had learned about his past was that he was originally from Normandy, but ran away to join the circus. I had also learned about his other interests. His skill in architecture was evident in his maze of mirrors. But his true passion was music. I had only heard a few pieces, but each piece was the most beautiful thing I’d ever heard. I was still amazed, five years later.

On this particular day, I actually had a chance of winning our chess tournament. The toymaker wasn’t letting me win, he wouldn’t insult me like that. It would be nice to surprise him for once. He still stared at me intensely every time I visited him. It felt like he could read my soul. I don't know if I could fully read his, but beating him at chess seemed like a good start.

My final move ended the game in ten seconds flat. With a few jumps, I checkmated his king. The toymaker laughed in surprise.

“Well, Daroga. You finally did it.”

“I have you to thank. My chess skills were miserable before.”

“True. But it was an impressive move. Care for another drink?”

“Yes, please.” He took my glass to what was his rather extensive collection of wine and spirits. We had been drinking this delightful Italian red, which is what the toymaker handed me now.

“Mmm. Your wine collection is truly the eighth wonder of the world.”

“It’s nice to know my travels with the circus produced one good thing.”

“Only one? Of all the places you’ve been?”

“My life isn’t as spectacular as you think, Daroga.”

“How do you know what I think, _monsieur_ Toymaker?”

“Erik… my real name is Erik.” I gave him a small smile and extended my hand.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Erik.” He chuckled in response and accepted my handshake. Our hands lingered for a moment or two longer than necessary, perhaps. The warm feeling that I had come to associate with him returned to my chest.

I couldn’t imagine my life without his friendship, but there was still so little I knew about him. Learning his name had been a major lead, but Erik was still a mystery I was nowhere near to solving.

〜〜〜〜〜〜〜〜〜〜〜〜〜〜〜〜〜〜〜〜〜〜〜〜〜〜〜〜〜〜〜〜〜〜〜〜〜〜〜

The hours passed. Erik and I drank and talked about nothing in particular. He liked to hear stories of my childhood and my time in the police force. Erik was not as keen to share. Instead, he would share the plots of his favorites operas and ballets. Europeans came up with the most interesting stories.

My head became more muddled with wine. I blamed it for the sudden urge that came over me to rid the Toymaker of the cloak covering his face. In the five years I’d known him, he had never taken it off. The Mazandaran heat could be unbearable.

“Why… would do you always cover your face?” I slurred. “It gets so ‒ hot here.”

“Well, I rarely leave my cold little lair, and masking one’s face adds such a theatrical mystery to my line of work. Besides, my good looks would frighten you.” I chortled in response, perhaps a little too loudly.

“Well, _monsieur_ , I thank you for the wine and conversation. But I’m afraid I must be going.”

“You’ll be back next week, I hope?”

“Provided no one commits any crimes. Why do you ask?”

“You finally won a chess game. What other purpose would you have to visit?”

“Believe it or not, I enjoy your company, Erik. Are you trying to get rid of _me_?”

“No! I ‒ I mean… I also enjoy your company. I just don’t…”

“Just don’t what, Erik?” I grabbed his collar in frustration. “Enough with the riddles, damn you!” Our faces were inches from each other. For the first time in five years, I saw fear in the Toymaker’s eyes. Fear of what? Fear of me?

I released him and apologized for my outburst. Erik only responded with a nod. I hurriedly left the palace dungeons. It wasn’t until I had locked the door of my home that I released a sigh of relief I didn’t realize I had been holding. A thousand thoughts were running through my head. Did Erik share my feelings? Had I been coming back to him in the hopes that our friendship would be more?

We would most likely never speak of this moment again, but we would definitely never forget it.


	3. Revealed, Three Years LAter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some angst, and an almost moment.

I can't believe I was being dragged into this. Being woken up in the middle of the night by that blasted Toymaker and told that I had to travel with him across the continent all the way to Paris was not my idea of a good time. But Erik seemed to be in danger, so I had to help him. I had to.

"Wait, you let yourself get caught up with radicals? And you thought it was a good idea?"

"It was the sultana's orders! Besides, I only got caught 'cause they used cheap tricks. Come on. We have a long journey ahead of us.

Neither of us spoke until sunrise. Asking Erik lots of questions only would have made us both irritable. But I couldn't help wonder…  _ Why did he ask for my help? If he had been on a mission for the sultana, surely she would have helped him? And did he really expect me to travel all the way to France with him? I have a life in Tehran. I'm dedicated to my work. If I abandoned the police force… How could Erik be so selfish? How could he do this to me? The nerve… _

"Your sulking is becoming unbearable, Daroga."

"Well, fleeing my home in the middle of the night with you is enough to make anyone sulk."

"You could have said no."

"Did I have much of a choice?"

"Perhaps not. But I greatly value your help. I would not be able to escape without you." He seemed to be sincere.  _ Bastard. _

"Could you at least tell me what happened. In detail?"

"Soon." I didn't feel like arguing, so I let the conversation end.

〜〜〜〜〜〜〜〜〜〜〜〜〜〜〜〜〜〜〜〜〜〜〜〜〜〜〜〜〜〜〜〜〜〜〜〜〜〜〜

It had been less than two weeks. We had left our horses at the first inn we found in Batumi. The two of us had to wait till morning for a boat that would take us to Kerch. I learned that Erik could speak English, in addition to Persian and his native French.

“How many languages do you speak, Toymaker?”

“Fluently? Only five. But I can understand a little German.”

“Only because of  _ Herr _ Mozart, right?

“Don’t forget  _ Herr  _ Beethoven, Daroga.”

“Of course, my mistake.” My mood wasn’t as sour as it had been two weeks ago. However, Erik still hadn’t told me anything about his business with the radicals.

Most of the inns and taverns we had stayed in only had one room for us. Batumi was no exception. I’ll admit, the town was nicer than one could expect from a port town. In the quiet, I noticed how much Erik had changed. He wasn’t as charismatic anymore.

“I think I deserve to know the truth.” He gave me a surprised look. I suppose he had forgotten.

“… About a year ago, the sultana asked me to look into a rebel group. They were merely whispers, but they were popular, well-liked whispers. I was sent as a spy. And I was so close to bringing them down. But they were suspicious. My… measures of concealment bother people, I suppose. So they asked around, gave the wrong people too many drinks. Soon, they found out… everything.”

“All because you cover your face?”

“My face is the one secret that I need kept above all else. Only my mother can handle seeing it.”

“Ayesha? Or your real mother?” His only response was some English curse.

His hands became more fidgety than usual. Throughout our journey, he had been the composed one. But something was making him lose all the resolve he had. He kept reaching for the fabric masking his face, then changing his mind. He wanted me to see. I couldn’t for the life of me figure out why. Erik would never be able to do it on his own. With a deep breath, I did the bravest and stupidest thing I had ever done.

“Erik, will you show me your face?” He was finally able to look me in the eye. He knew I had figured him out. He was frightened, but also relieved.

“… You won’t like it.”

“Try me.” I tentatively took a few steps towards him. Now that it was actually happening, I was more worried about what the future held than what I was about to see. This could blow my case wide open. Erik, impatient as ever, grabbed my hand. Like a puppet, my hand removed his biggest defense mechanism.

I’m not sure what I expected. In Persia, he had been described as Death Incarnate. This wasn’t far off. The skin stretched over the muscle too thinly. His lack of a nose wasn’t as shocking to me as it probably should have been. Knowing the voice for eight years made the face just as familiar. His cheek felt like parchment. Of all the…  _ moments _ Erik and I had shared over the years, this one was the most intense. Erik’s eyes kept darting back and forth between my own eyes and my mouth.  _ I don’t know what to do. _

“Say something Daroga. Please.” I wanted nothing more than to kiss him, give him everything he wanted. Oh, Allah.

“Tomorrow, I’ll see you off on the boat. But I’m going back to Tehran.

“What?” I took a step back.

“I can’t leave my home. I’ll ─ I’ll tell the sultana you died. You’ll be safe. But I can’t go with you.” I was pacing the room in worry.

“Daroga, what are you─”

“Erik, please don’t. This is… it’s for the best. You know I’m right.” Erik was frozen in place, but I knew his mind was racing. Minutes passed in agonizing silence.  _ Please say something. _

“Yes, you’re right. Forgive me, for assuming such an imposition.

The rest of the night passed in silence. I hated myself for betraying Erik. He made no effort to cover his face again. I knew he would never forgive me. I didn’t blame him. I would never forgive myself.

Neither of us slept well. That night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading/being patient. I'm determined to finish it. I took major liberties with the travel. Google Maps doesn't have a travel by horse option, so I'm making do.
> 
> Follow me on Tumblr @phantom-of-notre-dame-7 for fic updates and other shenanigans.


	4. Reunited (or, Something Finally Happens)

"It's been a long time, Daroga."

"Yes. It has." He had gotten thinner. Age had not been kind to him. Then again, neither had youth.

"Have you been in Paris long?"

"Only five years."

"And you didn't think to find me?'

"Did you  _ want _ to be found?" Erik laughed in response. His laugh had only gotten more menacing in the fifteen years since we had last seen each other.

I had known what Erik was doing in Paris fairly soon after arriving. With his musical and architectural genius, the Palais Garnier had been the only answer. I had been shocked to learn that Charles Garnier wasn't a pseudonym. But I couldn't face him, coward that I was, that I am.

"What do you think of my opera house?"

"It's beautiful, but how much of it is actually yours?"

"Just enough." He had been avoiding eye contact since I found his lakehouse under the opera, found him. In the 15 years since I had seen him, there was so much I wanted to say to him. Seeing him again, I wanted nothing more than to say them. But my tongue felt dry in my mouth. 

"So what led you to look for me, Daroga?"

"There had been talk of a ghost making trouble for the new managers. I was asked to investigate?"

"You're still a policeman?"

"No no, I retired ages ago. But I often come here. I was friends with  _ messieurs _ Debienne and Poligny."

"What a coincidence. So was I."

"They argued otherwise." Erik gave a nonchalant shrug in reply.

"So, tell me how you came to leave the sultana's employ?"

"What is this, an interrogation?"

"Humor me." The look he gave me was one I hadn't seen in a long time. In the past, it had been reserved for those condemned by the sultana. A horrible grin, like if you knew the Cheshire Cat would kill you in a moment. 

"I went back to Mazandaran and told the sultana you died. I retired in '74 and came here just in time to see your opera house be finished."

"A young retirement? The Daroga I know would never waste his life like that."

"Good thing I'm not a Daroga anymore." 

"... I beg your pardon?"

"Erik, 'Daroga' is not a name. It's a job title." Erik's face was fairly neutral, save for a slight frown. Experience told me that his mind was not processing the information well.

"I thought  _ I _ was the secret-keeper. What  _ is _ your name, then?"

I took a breath before responding. "Nadir. Nadir Khan." Erik held his hand out, a twisted parallel of all those years ago. With a sad smile, I accepted it.

For the first time in 15 years, that warm feeling returned to my chest. It spread to my fingers and toes, to where our hands met. This was starting to get ridiculous.  _ We've known each other for almost 20 years. I can't live in regret anymore. _ But Erik, that bastard, said what I had been feeling since we parted.

"I missed you greatly. And I don't expect you to forgive me. I -- I realized how important you are to me… Too late, it seems."

"Not too late." I blurted. His eyes widened. In that moment, I noticed that his mask was new. White porcelain hid his eyes, but that golden fire never escaped my notice. With a deep breath, I continued.

"I shouldn't have left in Batumi. Even though I felt like I had to leave, I didn't want to."

"Nadir --"

"Erik, shut up. Let me finish. From the moment I met you, you intrigued me. Hell, scared me. I couldn't tell you when exactly, but I knew that you and I were meant to be together. And I wasted time because I was afraid. Forgive you? Of course I forgive you! You stupid man.  _ I'm _ the one who should be asking forgiveness. For betraying you." I did the only thing that made sense to me in that moment: I embraced him. Erik didn't react at first. But then, I didn't expect him to. He smelled like leather and spice.

After what seemed like eternity, Erik's arms wrapped around me. We silently sobbed together. Eventually, I moved my hands to cup the thin face hidden under the mask.

"May I?" I whispered. When Erik nodded, I gently removed the porcelain. To my surprise, he didn't look  _ that _ much older. While the 15 years had grayed my hair and added wrinkles, Erik's hair was only showing the slightest signs of gray, and the condition of his skin had stayed the same.

"You look better than I do. I'm sorry I left."

"I'm sorry, too. God, we're such idiots."

"I agree." Realizing the mask was still in my hand, I discarded it on some nearby table. I needed both of my hands for what I was about to do.

I tenderly held Erik's face. He froze. We stood there for several moments. My face gravitated toward his. Despite the initiative I was taking, I felt so small. He was still unreasonably tall.

"Da-- Nadir. What are you doing?"

"What I should have done 20 years ago. Is… is that okay?"

"Yes. God, yes," he breathed. And then our lips met.

Despite the thinness of his lips, he was such a satisfying kisser. His hands clutched my waist, practically knocking me over in the process. My hands had a mind of their own. His shoulders, the hardness of his abdomen, the feel of his hair in my fingers. In the euphoria of finally acknowledging my love for him, I had forgotten to breathe. Reluctantly, I broke the kiss, which elicited a whine from Erik. Physically, we were practically glued to one another. Our breath mingling together in the space between our mouths. Erik pressed his forehead to mine, a slight grin on his face, his hands holding my jaw.

“For once, I don’t know what to say.”

“I guess we’ve both changed, Toymaker.”


	5. Happily Ever After (or, Mystery Solved)

I’d like to say our lives perfectly melded once we were together. But I don’t like lying. We both had become accustomed to our lives in Paris. However, we spent a considerable amount of time together. I learned his little habits. The way he’d hum to himself when he was working. The way his hands drummed on any available surface. The way his brow furrowed when we made love.

Despite our age, our intimate moments never faltered. He wasn’t used to being taken care of, so I set on a mission to show him everything he missed, everything he deserved.

It was one of these nights where I finally declared my case solved. We were spending the night in my flat, which wasn’t the original plan. But his hands were excellent persuaders. Erik’s lithe frame was nestled in my arms, but he wasn’t asleep. He was completely still, save for his fingers lightly drumming on my collarbone. He seemed uneasy. He was making progress in asking for what he wanted, what he needed. But the trauma he went through is difficult to unlearn.

“Erik, what are you thinking?” His fingers froze. The moments ticked by silently. Eventually, his fingers resumed their drumming.

“Are- Do we? Are you… bored? With me?”

“Bored? Why would I be bored?” Erik sat up, worry lines deep in his brow.

“It- It’s just- How am I enough for you? Making love to a corpse is what you want?” He had been wearing his mask less, but he felt no less uncomfortable in his skin.

“Erik, you silly little man. I have wanted you from the moment I saw you. Nothing could change that. You and I make sense, and there’s nothing boring about that.” He stared into my eyes, searching for a lie.  _ Let him look. All he’ll find is the truth. _

“You’ll have to forgive me,  _ mon ami _ ,” Erik chuckled wryly. “I’m just an old fool.”

“Perhaps. But you’re  _ my _ old fool.” I grinned and intertwined our hands together.

“Ugh, you great booby.” He lightly pushed me away, but his smile was genuine.

“ _ Your _ great booby?”

“Yes!” Erik responded with an exasperated sigh. “My great booby and your old fool.” I kissed him. He made me feel like a lovesick teenager, but he felt so right. I’m just sorry it took me so long to admit it.

I wrapped his thin frame in my arms as he moved to straddle my waist. The parchment-like feel of his hands across my face, my shoulders, my arms was grounding. But it was also intoxicating. I would never get over it. I loved the feeling of him, I loved his mind, I… I love…

“I love you.” It was the first time I’d said it out loud, but I have felt it since the very beginning. He didn’t seem as surprised as I expected. Instead, he just smiled, hands twisting in my hair.

“I love you, too.” He kissed me, smiling all the while.

  
At that moment, I knew that I had solved my mystery. Erik was… complicated. He was talented, dangerous, passionate. But more importantly, he was  _ mine _ . And I was his. And I wouldn’t want it any other way.

**Author's Note:**

> Follow @phantom-of-notre-dame-7 on tumblr for more fic and shenanigans.


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